My Ex-Wife Asked for the Savings Meant for Our Late Son – My Response Left Her and Her Husband Stunned

My Ex-wife Demands That I Give the Money I Saved for Our Late Son to Her Stepson – My Answer Shocked Her and Her New Husband

I believed that grief had dimmed my ears when my ex-wife insisted that the money I had saved for our deceased kid be given to her stepson. But as I sat across from her and her cocky husband, their bluster evident, I understood that this was about more than money; it was about protecting my son’s legacy.

The room was now too quiet, and I sat on Peter’s bed. His belongings were all over the place. Medals, books, and a partially completed sketch that he had left on the desk. When Peter wasn’t reading or solving some difficult puzzle that left my head spinning, he loved to doodle.

I mumbled, “You were too smart for me, kid,” as I took a picture frame from his bedside table. On his sixteenth birthday, it was us. When he believed he was outwitting me, he would flash that crooked grin. Usually he was.

Yale. My son was accepted to Yale. Sometimes I still couldn’t believe it. But he was never able to leave. That was ensured by the intoxicated motorist.

I sighed and scratched my temples. Like it had since November, the pain came to me in waves. On certain days, I was almost able to function. On other days, like today, it completely engulfed me.

I returned when I heard a knock on the door. Susan. Earlier, she had left a voicemail. She’d said, “We need to talk about Peter’s fund,” Although she had a lovely voice, it was always too rehearsed and phony. I didn’t return the call. But here she was now.

I pulled the door open. Her eyes were frigid, although she was dressed as sharply as ever.

“Can I come in?” Before I could respond, Susan stepped passed me and asked.

With a sigh, I gestured to the living room. “Make it quick.”

She took a seat and settled in. “Look,” she added in a tone that suggested this was not a major concern. “We know Peter had a college fund.”

I could tell right away where this was going. “You’re kidding, right?”

Susan smirked and leaned forward. “Consider it. Just sitting there is the money. Why not make excellent use of it? Ryan may gain a lot.

I yelled, “That money was for Peter,” Before I could stop it, my voice soared. “It’s not for your stepson.”

Susan shook her head and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Stop acting this way. Ryan is also a family member.

What I was hearing was unbelievable. “Relatives? He was hardly known to Peter. Peter was little known to you.

She didn’t dispute that her face was flushed. Tomorrow, let’s get together for coffee and talk about it. Jerry, myself, and you.”

As I settled back into Peter’s bed, I couldn’t help but think of that talk. With my heart hurting, I took another glance around his room. How did we arrive here?

I had always been responsible for raising Peter. When he was twelve, Susan departed. The “responsibility,” as she had described it, was something she did not want. She’d stated, “It’s better for Peter this way,” as if she were helping us both.

Peter and I were alone for years. I was his, and he was my world. I would get up early to prepare his lunch, assist him with his schoolwork after school, and watch his games from the stands to support him. Susan didn’t care. Sometimes she would send him a card on his birthday. Just a card with her name written on the bottom—no presents.

However, Peter never expressed that he didn’t mind. He enjoyed learning and daydreaming about the future. He would add, “One day, Dad,” “we’re going to Belgium.” We’ll see the castles and museums. Remember the beer monks, too.

“Beer monks?” I would chuckle. “You’re a little young for that, aren’t you?”

“It’s research,” he would smile in response. “Yale’s going to love me.”

And they did. I still recall the day the letter of acceptance arrived. With trembling hands, he opened it at the kitchen table and then let out a shout so loud I thought the neighbors may call the police. I had never felt more proud.

It was the reason the summer with Susan and Jerry was so difficult. Even though I didn’t believe it, Peter wanted to connect with them. However, he had changed by the time he returned. less noisy. I eventually got him to speak one evening.

He had whispered, “They don’t care about me, Dad,” instead. “Jerry said I’m not his responsibility, so I ate cereal for dinner every night.”

Despite clenching my hands, I remained silent. I didn’t want to exacerbate the situation. However, I never returned him.

When I entered the coffee shop the following morning, I saw them right away. Susan appeared bored as she browsed through her phone. Jerry was sitting across from her, loudly stirring his coffee, which annoyed me. At first, they didn’t even notice me.

I was standing close to their table. “Let’s get this over with.”

Susan’s rehearsed smile came back into focus as she looked up. “Oh, that’s good. You’re present. “Sit, sit.” She made a gesture as if she were helping me.

Without a word, I slid into the chair across from them. I waited for them to speak.

Jerry’s smug smile was fixed on his face as he leaned back. “Thank you for coming to see us. We are aware that this is difficult.

I arched an eyebrow. “No, it’s not.”

Susan’s tone was sugary sweet as she jumped in. “We simply believe that it’s the proper course of action, you know? There’s no purpose for Peter’s fund. Additionally, Ryan has a lot of promise.

Jerry folded his arms and nodded. “Dude, college costs a lot. You should know that, of all people. When that money could be used to help someone, why let it sit there?

“Someone?” My voice was quiet as I repeated. “You mean your stepson?”

Susan let out a sigh as if I were being challenging. “Ryan is a family member. Peter would have preferred to assist.

I yelled, “Don’t you dare speak for Peter,” “He didn’t really know Ryan. Let’s also not act as though you were interested in Peter.

Susan’s smile wavered as she tensed up. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” I spoke steadily as I leaned forward. “Let’s discuss fairness. Fair is bringing up a child, supporting them, and being there when it matters. For Peter, I did it. You didn’t. You were too preoccupied with your “new family” to send him to me. Do you now believe that you have a claim to his legacy?

For a moment Jerry’s arrogance broke. He bounced back fast. “Look, entitlement isn’t the issue. It all comes down to acting morally.

“The right thing?” I gave a sour laugh. Like when Peter stayed with you in the summer? Do you recall that? You wouldn’t even buy him dinner when he was fourteen. While you and Susan were eating steak, you allowed him to have cereal.

Jerry’s face flushed, but he remained silent.

Susan blurted out, “That’s not true,” in a tremulous voice. “You’re twisting things.”

“No, I’m not,” I interrupted. “Peter himself informed me. He made an effort to get in touch with you two. He wanted to think you were interested. However, you didn’t.

Jerry hit the table with his coffee cup. “You’re acting absurdly. Are you aware of how difficult it is to raise a child today?

“I do,” I retorted. “Neither of you gave me a cent to raise Peter. Therefore, you dare not lecture me.

There was silence in the coffee shop. Even though people were staring, I didn’t mind. I glared at them both as I stood there. “That money isn’t yours to keep.” You don’t own it. It won’t ever be.

I turned and left without waiting for an answer.

I sat in Peter’s room once more when I got home. I kept thinking about the confrontation, but it didn’t ease the pain in my chest.

I grabbed the picture of him and me on his birthday off the desk. I said, “They don’t get it, buddy,” to them. “They never did.”

Looking about the room, I took in the artwork, the books, and the small fragments of him that were still very much present. The European map that was affixed to his wall caught my attention. A bright red marker was used to circle Belgium.

Shouting, “We were supposed to go,” “Me and you. The castles, museums, and beer monks. I gave a little laugh, my voice cracking. “You really had it all planned out.”

My chest began to hurt more and more, but suddenly something changed. A fresh idea, a fresh determination.

I turned on my laptop and signed into my account for the 529 Plan. I knew what to do as I gazed at the balance. Ryan didn’t get that money. No one else was the recipient. Peter was the recipient. For us.
I said, “I’m doing it,” out loud. Belgium. exactly what we stated.

A week later, Peter’s picture was securely in my jacket pocket as I flew. Although the seat next to me was vacant, it didn’t feel that way. With my heart racing, I held onto the armrest as the jet took off.

I looked at his photo and whispered, “I hope you’re here with me, kid.”

The trip fulfilled all of our fantasies. I marveled at imposing castles, strolled through opulent museums, and even went to a monastic brewery. At each stop, I pictured Peter’s eagerness, skewed smile, and incessant inquiries.

I sat along the canal on the final night, watching the city lights reflect off the water. I took out Peter’s picture and displayed it to the audience.

Silently, “This is for you,” I said. “We made it.”

The pain in my chest subsided for the first time in months. He was with me, but Peter was gone. We had a dream about this. No one could take it away from me.